


Ritual

by Amadi



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Character Study, Community: cottoncandy_bingo, Gen, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:53:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amadi/pseuds/Amadi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight, he's noticing everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ritual

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Cotton Candy Bingo, for the square "Tea."

The details of it normally escaped him, but not tonight. Tonight, he's noticing everything. The unusual kerning of the otherwise bog standard Verdana lettering on the box. The octogonal bronze tag printed with a white logo, smaller than he can comfortably decipher the details of. The ecru paper of the unbleached paper bag and its quiet rustle as it's slid from the sachet.

The fragrant leaves, no bitterness to their scent, just warm smoky spice and sweet fruit, overlaid a note of citrus. He thought it was lemon but Elle, he'll never forget, identified it as bergamot. Scrunching her nose and shaking her head at the offer of a cup of her own, she shuddered as she said "I _hate_ bergamot," her mouth twisting apologetically as he frowned, bemused at her reaction. "Reminds me of my creepy uncle's aftershave."

He understood that all too well. The creepy uncles were everywhere. 

He never offered her a cup again.

He also didn't let it deter his enjoyment. The creeps in his life didn't bother with aftershave, bergamot scented or otherwise. At least not that he remembers.

The memory of Elle slips in and out, touching his mind briefly, but he focuses on the steps of his ritual. He dispenses the water, allowing it to cool just a touch while the tea is opened. The bag is dipped into the mug, just enough to let the water seep through and saturate. Three dunks, up and down, slowly. Is it a baptism? Father, Son, Holy Ghost? No, just three dunks because the third is when little swirls of color begin to emerge, spinning out into the rippling water. One more deep plunge, one that lets the bag sink and settle at the bottom of the mug, and he finds a stirrer. It's always a stirrer, never a spoon. There's no reason to bother with one, and it's too much waste. Besides, a stirrer is something to play with as he reads, something to tap like a pencil but without the sound to wake anyone, or to contemplatively chew as he types a report.

Stirrer dropped into the mug, he gives it a single twirl around and through the water, then makes his way slowly from the little galley, toward his seat. He looks at his team as he passes each of them, all indulging in their own means of recovery. JJ simply sleeps, usually curled into herself, covered with a blanket. Derek plugs into his music and drifts away on it. Dave looks at news, financial reports mostly, tracking his investments. Spencer reads, much more slowly than he's capable of, just because he can. Emily watches out the window, but he suspects she's not really seeing anything, just setting her eyes on the horizon and getting lost in her thoughts.

He always chooses the same seat on their way home, on the aisle, at the table, facing the cockpit. They all know, and no one thinks of stealing his spot. As soon as they're at cruising altitude, the files and laptop are spread out, made ready. Then the tea is made.

There is always paperwork, but tea makes it go faster. It's always tea with paperwork.

Coffee is for other times, in the thick of things.

Paperwork, though, means the job, _this_ job, is over. And that usually means that they caught someone, ended some nightmare, hopefully brought someone home, safe if not sound.

Sound takes a lot more than just being safe. But safe is, in itself, a win.

Tea celebrates the victory.

Tea is the trip home. A case closed. The good guys live to fight another day.

One more stir, and he takes the first sip. His mouth is inured to the heat of a first taste of the hot beverages that fuel his existence.

Two more sips, as he looks around the cabin at his team, his family, once more. Then he sets the mug aside and gets down to business. The last of the tea is usually cold by the time he remembers it again. That's part of it too, the tepid mouthful, swallowed at the signal that descent into Quantico is moments away.

Tea is the bookend, the punctuation, the full stop on the last sentence of the after action report.

Tea is homecoming.

Tea is the new beginning.


End file.
